Oricon: Aftermath
by Mechalich
Summary: The Dread Masters have fallen, but the Dread Host remains, and terrible secrets lie scattered across the Oricon system. It falls to a single Sith to probe the fallen legacy of fear and to prevent the last servants of the masters from unleashing catastrophe.
1. Prologue

Prologue

He felt the masters die. One by one, in rapid succession. A matter of a few minutes from the first to the last. Each a swift, brutal bite taken from him; a piece ripped out of the soul, to leave only a gaping emptiness behind. By the time it was done he was naught but a shell, a flapping construction of flesh and armor wrapped around a void. The masters had been there, had suffused his core and made him strong. They had been his lodestone, the purpose around which he was built.

Now they were gone.

Something bubbled up from the depths of that cavernous hole within, a thing he had considered forgotten, buried behind the watchman, the being he'd become in order to better serve the masters. He almost did not recognize it, distracted by the overwhelming loss and the ongoing battle against the white-clad Republic invaders.

It was his name.

Viskene Joressal, that was the identity he had possessed, once, back when he was merely a Sith, a misguided fool. He had lost it upon becoming a vessel for the glory that was the Dread Masters. The agents of fear needed no names. It had returned to him now, and he wondered why.

Only the greatest servants of the masters had retained their names, preserved their identities; the commanders of the host. They were all dead now, having fallen to the fools who opposed the will of the masters, defeated by the numbers and fanaticism of the blind republic and misguided empire.

Viskene plunged his lightsaber through the armor of a republic soldier as he bounded down the walls of the palace. Turning, he blocked a short flurry of blaster bolts before slipping to step through the shadows and slash another soldier across the back, leaving the ruined body falling to the warm stones below.

Glancing around both with armor-filter concealed eyes and the enhanced sensitivity of the force, he discovered something strange.

The fighting was coming to an end. All about him the Dread Host was crumbling. They yet matched the republic invaders, despite the superior numbers of the unseeing horde from the Core, but the battle was done. He could feel the despair infecting all the others, even here on the walls of the palace, among the most loyal. Warriors of the host dropped blasters and lightsabers, raising their arms and letting the bolts and grenades of the enemy claim them. Other charged madly into storms of fire, or threw their bodies into Jedi attacks. Some stopped entirely, laying down their arms and falling prone, doing nothing when the enemy wrapped them in bonds. Only a handful still fought.

 _We will all die_ , Viskene realized, the power of the revelation dropped him to his knees. At the same moment a grenade passed over him, through the space his head had just occupied to explode well behind. He saw the future then. The republic horde would surmount the walls of the Fortress and the hidden Palace even as the imperial special forces cut off all avenues of retreat. The few remaining defenders could not hope to hold them back, and the masters were gone, there would be no deliverance. Those who did not die would be taken, captured to be remade into slaves of the empire or mind-slaves of the Jedi, those not simply executed for the actions these fools would label crimes.

All servants of the Dread Masters would be eliminated, and the memory of the masters, the true memory – not the lies and superstition of the enemies who could not understand the great working – would be lost.

 _That must not be._

 _I recall my name,_ Viskene decided. _That makes me a commander of the Dread Host. Perhaps the only commander. I must act._ The host was not destroyed. Much was lost, no doubt more would be in the final throes of this miserable battle, but there would be pockets that remained. He knew of outposts scattered across Oricon, hidden deployments, secret caches know only to the palace guardians.

They would rally.

Stepping through the darkness, Viskene cut down one soldier, and then another, carving a brutal path through the shadows, one sweeping slice at a time. His path ran not along the defensive works, but outward, ever outward, beyond the hidden warp-walls of the Dread Palace, over the great stone barriers of the Dread Fortress, and onto the lava-broken landscape of Oricon. He charged through the lines of battle, leaving them, and defeat, behind.

As he retreated, he saw he was not alone. Other members of the Dread Host, a pitiful fraction, but still extant, were also withdrawing. They abandoned the fortress and the strongpoints surrounding it between the walls and the encampments of the enemy. No point in defending them now, they fled into the wilds of Oricon.

Though he moved with them, Viskene was not giving up. The masters had given back his name. He would command, he would yet serve. The host would regain purpose.

 _Honor to the masters!_

8 8 8

In the depths of the Dread Palace, monument to fear and suffering carved out by the sheer will of the Dread Masters, Biarae Sostroin battled the imperial strike team. She gathered the dark side and channeled all the might of her contempt, fear, and wrath into the face of the foe, these so-called elites who dared the sanctum of the masters. Lightning leapt from her fingertips to crash against armor and scatter down weapon barrels. Arcs touched and slashed across flesh in places, but not enough, never enough.

It was not a prolonged engagement. Though she and her comrades were champions of the Dread Host, the most chosen servants of the masters, these foes were skilled beyond any she had ever faced, and a match for the masters themselves. Their titles, what she had initially thought to be no more than gaudy labels tied to exaggerated smugglers' yarns, proved most well-earned.

As she watched one of her comrades cut in half by the bold, indomitable lightsaber blows of the Emperor's Wrath, Biarae came to recognize that they were not intended to win, or indeed to seriously damage the foe. These warriors, the honor guard of the palace, were nothing but a sacrifice to buy the masters time that they might hatch some plan to hold back these champions of the empire she had scorned so much.

The Emperor's Wrath turned their lightsaber upon her, and there was no time for thought, only the desperate channeling of the force in an effort to survive one second, then another, and another.

She called on the power of the force to tear at the innards of her enemy. She blasted every ounce of lightning she could muster, seeking to burn armor clean away. She even tried to wrap howling coils of the force about her foe in hopes of a moment's respite. All to no avail. The enemy was too strong, possessed of impenetrable guard, and all her attacks amounted to nothing more than sparks dancing across simmering plate.

Strikes cut into her own armor, piercing deep. A burning wound cleaved her side, ripping amongst entrails and organs, leaving her coughing and wretched, unable to properly breathe. Only the immolating churn of the lightsaber, sealing the wound even as it crafted it, saved her from bleeding out in seconds. Her guard faltered in the follow-through to this blow, and a poison dart from a stealthy enemy pierced her elbow, sapping the strength from her limbs. She sidestepped the next attack desperately, only to be bathed in the explosive blast from a streaking rocket.

Stumbling, she went to one knee, knowing her end had come.

The Wrath raised a hand, palm out, and a massive concussion of power slammed into her, from head to toe, every part of the body picked up and hurled by impossible, stone-breaking repulsion. She was taken and thrown, propelled by that invisible wave, to strike hard against the walls. Her body slumped down, feet striking uneven, bones cracking, everything a white blanket of agony and devastation.

Blackness covered all.

A terrible sensation restored awareness. Something was being pulled away, drawn out of her and down into a spiraling abyss. Great energy and potency siphoned out, and with it the essential current of fear, the central truth that had powered her and made her the terrible interrogator. Though her thoughts were clouded and buried deep beneath a choking weight of pain, it was impossible to ignore the meaning, to mistake this event as anything but what is was.

The Dread Masters were no more. The power that had been granted to her as one of their servants, the presence and the glimpse into the sovereignty of true fear, washed away on the tide of their departure.

Feeling this, Biarae came to the startling discovery that she lived.

With difficulty she forced open one eye. Her head would not bend, neck muscles refused to obey, but shifting the bruised orb back and forth was enough. She was lying seated against the wall of the Dread Palace, body damaged and broken, but not ended. A second frame, the larger heavyset form of one of the hulking Palace Guardians, lay atop her, obscuring her body. The hallway was filled with death, all her fellows shattered by the onslaught of the strike team.

Tentatively she probed with the force. There was nothing among the echoes there, only death. The enemy had come, they had slain, and she, by some random chance, had survived, life's fires sufficiently banked that no one had thought to finish her in the rush onward.

By this unforeseen probability alone, she had lasted beyond the death of the masters. It was almost inconceivable.

 _I will not live much longer._ The next thought followed in the despair of the moment. With the masters dead, the shrouded walls of the palace would fall, the modified Rakatan technology used to restrict entry to portals alone would fail, and the enemy soldiers would flood within. She would be executed, if not immediately than after rounds of torture.

Many long nightmares had she spent within the depths of the Palace dungeons, awakening those who had been deemed insufficient to serve to the truth of fear, to the revelation of the masters. Recalling them now, she felt a great wash of bitterness tainting each and every one. The masters were not divine. They held no unequalled truth. The path to fear was defeated, revealed as no more than one path among many. Stronger than most perhaps, but in the end, not strong enough.

At the same time, the memories brought up inescapable recognition. Biarae knew the capabilities of the dark side to trap the imprisoned within their private hell. The torments were all that could be imagined and more.

 _I will not be taken!_

She would not suffer the rack, the electrodes. No hands would claw apart her flesh piece by piece, with the terminal delicacy of maximal suffering. She would not allow it.

Yet neither would she die. The universe had spared her. Its cosmic whims had delivered her alive from the pummeling of the Wrath, even as the Masters had fallen. Her lips twitched slightly, moving towards the all-but-forgotten form of a smile. Having survived, she would not abandon life so easily.

Reaching down with the tendrils of her will, Biarae gathered the hideous pain filling every muscle and power and forged from them a net of hooks and barbs. Casting forth she grappled with the immensity of the dark side, capturing great gouts of power. Working swiftly, compelled by the immediacy of need and the fury of loss, she gathered that power and sent it racing through her limbs, shearing away damage, slashing apart necrotic tissue, smashing bones back into place, forcing damaged cells to grow and divide and replace the lost, scourging invading bacteria and viruses from her limbs. She cast up the revivification and made herself whole once again.

Then she blasted out a mighty pulse of electric force and threw the guardian's body off her frame.

With effort, and wincing at continuing pain, for the powers she had unleashed were far from completed in their work, Biarae stood. Moving as fast as she dared, feeling the stress against the terrible wound in her side and the scarcely knitted bones in her legs, she scampered away down the hall, seeking the throne of Bestia, and the secret exit portal she had used for members of her legion. She could use it to escape and find succor elsewhere on Oricon.

As she entered at a stumbling run, the former interrogator considered her next move. The masters were dead, their fortress fallen, and whatever members of the host survived were surely scattered. Much what they had made was doubtless lost forever, trapped within the skulls of the masters themselves, and now dragged into the deepest reaches of the dark side. Yet more remained. The dungeons had yielded up many secrets, overheard when pried out from the mounts of traitors and the unworthy.

There would be no return to the Empire, and defection to the Republic was an equally absurd prospect, but there were other paths, other places. The masters had been six, and had brought the Empire and Republic together to the brink of destruction. With even a fraction of their power, she could claim whatever she desired. Perhaps even the head of the Emperor's Wrath.

Smiling beneath her mask, Biarae ran for the portal, wondering what the universe, in its whims, might chose to leave behind.

Chapter Notes

While I dislike creating original characters for use in SWTOR, given the vast slate available, I saw no way around doing so for this story. The reality is that none of the named NPCs on Oricon is presumed to survive the Dread War episodes, leaving the cupboard rather bare on that front. So Biarae and Viskene are newly manufactured. Even so, they are derived directly from in game content. Both are members of trash mob groups encountered during the Dread Palace operation. Biarae is a Palace Interrogator, and Viskene a Palace Watchman.

The Emperor's Wrath makes a brief appearance in this prologue, in what will probably be the only appearance of one of the class characters in this tale. I have chosen to have the operations group that eliminated the masters be imperial because the principle characters are all imperials, but I will consider both endings of that operation as having happened, since they do not contradict each other.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Halsia Banso approached the communication tent as ordered. It had been repurposed as a secondary meeting room now that off-world communications had been reduced below the emergency level. She also knew they were still using the encampment rather than the fortress despite it being three days since the victory because the droids were having all kinds of trouble hooking up any normal systems to the insane infrastructure of the Dread Masters.

Estimates for when operations would be shifted over had been extended repeatedly, and Halsia no longer had any confidence in them. She didn't really mind. Too many Sith, and who knows how many pieces of soldier fodder, had been lost taking that poisonous, madness-infused hulk. Lord Hargrev was welcome to it as far as she cared.

It proved to be a fairly small meeting, much as expected. Three days since desperate victory and they were already moving the extraction into the final stages. Darth Marr's men had been pulling out Dread Executioners as fast as they could get the shuttles to land, dispatching the weary and in many cases just restored to sanity soldiers to new hot zones all over the galaxy.

The process had provided an excellent picture into the true state of the war effort, if a decidedly unwelcome one. For her part, Halsia expected she'd be dispatched again soon herself. Not that she was eager. She seen plenty of futile stands here on Oricon, and they'd only been spared through the arrival of the Empire's best, and a not inconsiderable assist from Republic scum. Joining another one under Darth Marr for the sake of imperial pride was…unappetizing.

She was the second to arrive. The tent was already occupied by the hulking frame of Traxalis Deagua; a bulky creature sheathed in armor and hiding at least some, no one seemed to know just how many, cybernetic replacements under that machinery. He never took helmet or armor off in public, staring at the world through red eyes. The warrior was a brute, the type of Sith who looked down the blade of a lightsaber at the universe. It was a crude approach, but Halsia counted him more competent than most at it. He had acquitted himself well enough in the defense of the camp and the final assault of the fortress.

Traxalis stared her down with red eyes as she walked in, and turned away only to examine the next arrival. Halsia felt his approach, and avoided turning. She knew this one, clad in light white armor and possessing blue skin. He was impossible to miss in the Force, for he possessed two unique qualities. There was no one else on Oricon whose presence betrayed the telltale feel of Imperial Intelligence masking training, and there were no other Chiss either. Aliens were unreliable. Some fought well, some were worthless. Training made a difference, and certainly the republic soldiers managed well enough despite their childish inefficiency. Yet she did not trust the Chiss, the whole species was up to something, too close to Imperial Intelligence and keeping too many secrets from the rest of the Empire. Seibahn Vabakson might always be professional, but the combination of Chiss and Intelligence was doubly dubious.

Seibahn was precisely on time, typical of his profession. He was followed only a few steps behind by Maiya Vix. The dark-haired officer was immediately recognizable to all present, both from the burn scars on her face to her position as Lord Hargrev's adjutant. At the moment she was the second most powerful person on the planet, and far more available than the Sith Lord struggling to tame the ghosts of the fortress.

Deeply professional, utterly dedicated to duty, and properly aware of the military's place as subordinate to the Sith, Maiya had Halsia's respect. An ideal staff officer, and now proven under fire. She wasted on Hargrev, and a poor match for the man's relaxed approach. Perhaps she would be open to a transfer, assuming Halsia could somehow acquire a lord's title of her own.

The four waited, with Maiya impatiently tapping at her datapad, for the fifth arrival. Dae'o Soset, typical of fringe mercenaries, was late. He walked with an arrogant saunter all the same, and glared at everyone from behind his black veil as if this was a waste of his time. It was only just barely justified in recognition of his abilities. They'd fought together in the fortress assault, and there was no ignoring his capability in battle. It might be worth trying to seduce him, assuming they were both stuck on this molten moon for much longer.

'Now that we're all present,' Maiya began irritably. 'This meeting can begin.' She spoke swiftly, relaying information as if every announcement was time-critical. An unsurprising adaptation, given how true that had been until very recently. 'As you all know, the strategic situation here on Oricon has been changing rapidly in the past few days. Without the Dread Masters to control and lead them, the majority of the Dread Host has been captured, destroyed, or has suicided on its own. At present we estimate that roughly ninety percent of all forces have been neutralized. The remaining units have mostly scattered and lack coordination and heavy ordinance.'

This was good news, and a sign that the incessant mop-up sorties of the past few days ought to be at an end. Halsia was glad of it. The remnant host was mostly useless, but those still willing to fight had shown a growing dangerous tendency towards cornered desperation as the skirmishes continued. It would be highly embarrassing to suffer an injury in these desultory engagements.

'Unfortunately,' the aide continued without celebration. 'This has resulted in the Dread Host being largely written off as a threat and the various Dread Executioners units disbanded and repurposed to other combat theaters, mostly on the front lines with the Republic. This action, combined with the total withdrawal of Republic forces from Oricon.' The white suits had pulled out with impressive speed. Their logistics corps was skilled, and conducted mass operations with a coordination that the Empire, shamefully, couldn't match. 'Has left the remaining garrison outnumbered.'

Halsia's eye widened. Her attention, which had been wandering somewhat aimlessly, was suddenly focused. This was very bad. The Dread Host was not an ordinary force. Lack of coordination or not, the Dread Masters had chosen some of the best soldiers and most bloodthirsty Sith in the Empire to forge into their legions. The exhausted and worn down survivors who'd defeated them could be in serious trouble if they somehow organized.

Maiya body tensed at this statement, proof that she was equally aware of the attendant difficulties. 'As a result of this drawdown in forces Lord Hargrev has redeployed the remaining imperial forces to garrison this campsite and the Dread Fortress, with the intent of occupying the fortress permanently as soon as it can be readied for ongoing operations.' She paused very briefly, scanning across the four specialists gathered before her. 'Otherwise we are suspending active pursuit of the dread host until restoration of automated defenses renders the fortress properly secure. The exception will be a small group of elite operatives dispatched to strike at priority targets on their own, without support.'

 _And there it is,_ Halsia noted. Her feelings were mixed. Hunting down scattered fanatics was a thankless task. There was no glory to be earned and plenty of danger besides. At best she might manage to scrounge up some unreported credits from whatever leavings the survivors possessed. Then again, Oricon was a remote system. The Republic was unlikely to invade. If the war went worse, escape into the Outer Rim would be easy. Besides, whatever had happened in his struggle against the madness-inducing sorcery of the Dread Masters, it seemed to have made Lord Hargrev into a rather forgiving master. To not fear being killed on a whim might prove a pleasant change.

She glanced at the others. Traxalis' masked face was inscrutable, and he read out as nothing more than a blot of aggression in the force, as always. Seibahn was little better, the Chiss' face was perfectly composed, and trying to read the emotions of the intelligence-trained was a waste of effort. The bounty hunter, by contrast, was openly upset.

'I didn't sign on to stay out here in the back end of nowhere after the battle was won,' Dae'o complained, deep voice filled with guttural inflexion. 'Hunting nameless dread pups don't pay well and it don't rank well neither. I'm leaving.'

 _I doubt it_ , Halsia thought, somewhat amused.

'There are no berths on hyperdrive-equipped vessels available to you, Dae'o Soset,' Maiya was brusque, professional. She did not even bother to look up from her datapad. 'Also, it appears you have failed to meet the decontamination requirements mandated for clearance to leave the Oricon system in any case. Attempting to leave without proper medical clearance will result in a death mark placed against you in all Imperial and Republic systems.'

Dae'o responded with a stream of expletives in Mandalorian. It was a crude language that Halsia had never slummed to learn, but she had to admit it made for exquisite cursing. 'Fine,' he eventually relented. 'But don't think this is the end of it.'

'Where do we strike?' this interjection came from Traxalis. The warrior seemed unwilling to have his bloodthirst delayed any longer than absolutely necessary.

Maiya responded by projecting an image from her datapad. An image of the star system, one Halsia recognized from a half-remembered briefing before the madness of the landing as the one they presently occupied, emerged. 'For the moment the threat here on Oricon is contained. The Dread Host forces are scattered and this campsite and the Dread Fortress are secure positions that are easily defended.'

 _True enough,_ Halsia smirked. _Except that they were just successfully attacked._

'As a result, we intend to dispatch you to strike at other points in the Oricon system where the Dread Masters established outposts. These facilities are generally very small, but they are so far largely unscathed by the fighting and it is possible that some may possess assets unknown to us that represent a serious threat. We need you to scout them out, determine the scope of the threat, and neutralize anything that cannot be recovered.' Maiya tweaked her display, zooming in on the inner system. 'We're going to split you up by zones, according to your various areas of expertise,' she explained. 'Dae'o Soset, you're assigned to clear Enreosal, the first planet.'

Halsia didn't remember this planet from the brief, but the holoimage contained a basic readout. _A fiery hellhole,_ she recognized. It was not simply a highly volcanic world like Oricon, but a planet on fire from sky to stones. It was also massive, no doubt with punishing gravity to match. She supposed the bounty hunter's armor could compensate for both things and considered him welcome to it.

'Just great,' the bounty hunter grunted.

Ignoring this comment, the officer continued. 'Traxalis Deagua, you are assigned to clear the remaining moons of Bodrern.' This name was much more recognizable, since it was the gas giant they were presently orbiting. Like most of its kind it had dozens of moons, from large to puny.

'They shall be destroyed,' the voice was synthetic, emerging from somewhere among a tangle of machinery. As Sith went, however, Halsia did not find it especially intimidating.

'Agent Vabakson,' Maiya addressed the Chiss next. 'You are to clear the moons of Nesperia.' Her display illuminated a dark bluish gas giant with a pair of pale rings.

'Acknowledged,' the inscrutable intelligence officer added nothing. Chiss were well suited to cold ops, if nothing else.

'And Halsia Banso, you are assigned to all targets on sub-planetary non-satellite bodies throughout the system,' Maiya concluded.

'Lovely.' She would have liked most anything better. Running around on freezing cold, airless balls of rock and ice was not her idea of a fun time. 'How are we supposed to get there?' None of them had ships of their own, though it was less embarrassing because anyone who'd arrived on this planet with a ship was now the proud owner of a pile of free-floating debris thanks to the Dread Masters.

Clicking repeatedly on her datapad, Maiya addressed the group again. 'We've managed to repair some of the smaller shuttles captured during the assault. They aren't capable of lightspeed but they should suffice to get you around the system. We've repurposed a number of surviving Dread Host probe droids that can be utilized for communications and support. At the moment those are the only assets available to this assignment. However, if you encounter a hardened target that is beyond your personal capabilities we will attempt to assemble a strike team.'

No one bothered to ask about the possibility of reinforcement or rescue. They'd all served in the Empire long enough.

'Here are your shuttle assignments,' Maiya transferred the directions. 'You have until tomorrow to transfer personal items and conclude any remaining business here on Oricon. Your droids have access to our current tactical framework. You may choose your own targets, but I require a briefing once you've determined your initial mission. Otherwise, dismissed.'

No one saluted. They simply dispersed, each in their own direction. Halsia considered trying to talk to Maiya, but realized she had nothing to say to the officer. In truth she had nothing much to say to anyone in the camp. The battles of the Dread War had not been much for team building, the fear and madness suffusing every breath had sent them all retreating within, barriers high. The few Sith she'd fought with in battle defending the camp had all been dispatched elsewhere in any case.

The only real comrade remaining she cared to talk to was Quartermaster Ma'tti, because keeping on the good side of the man holding the supplies was essential in war, even for Sith. He was also a fellow Ziost-born, and kept up on the gossip from there. She liked knowing what was going on back home, in some sense at least.

She found the quartermaster in the fortress courtyard, supervising a large group of droids in the effort to strip down the remains of other droids. 'Halsia,' Ma'tti turned as she approached. 'To what do I owe the attention of my favorite Sith?'

'Don't flatter,' she quipped, but jovially. He might even have meant it, possibly. It depended on how much he wanted to get under her armor versus how careful he was to suck up to Hargrev. Some men were blinded by hormones.

'Okay, okay, you got me,' he threw up his hands. 'But you're still ahead of Darth Marr, who couldn't be bothered to get me off this miserable slag heap of a moon.'

'You should be grateful,' she teased. 'He may well have spared you a miserable death in an artillery barrage. Against that, what's a little lava and a few ghosts? Besides,' she added, thinking on her present circumstances. 'Not all off-world postings are upgrades.'

'Too many ghosts,' he quipped, but softly. They both knew his real loss was the inside track to riches made through the side deals all quartermasters conducted behind the back of the military. Ma'tti had the best scheme of all too, selling to the Sith. His loses were no doubt extensive. Not that Halsia mourned it at all. She was already considering how much of a discount she could get from her suddenly desperate supplier.

Brightening, the quartermaster turned back to her. 'Well, favorite or not, what can I do for you today? These droids can manage without me for a few minutes.'

'Nothing specific,' Halsia replied, levelly. There really wasn't, regrettably. 'I'm being shipped out,' she told him. 'Dread Master Vix,' it was a terrible joke, but it had sprung up as soon as the battle was won and showed no signs of dissipating. It would probably last until someone slipped up and said it to the staff officer's face. Well, among the soldiers anyway. Sith tended to find jokes that someone had been shot over to be the best kind. 'Has tasked me to bounce around this system's frozen iceballs hunting for Dread Host survivors.'

'Ugh, sounds miserable,' Ma'tti commiserated. 'I suppose that means you get one of our friendly shuttles then.'

'Apparently,' the Sith grumbled. She'd seen those ships after the assault. They hadn't been impressive. Comfort for their troops was not something the Dread Masters even considered. 'Any advice?'

'Don't trust the shields,' he shrugged. 'Darth Marr's troops took all the good generator coils. We're left with refurbished old ones and some half-burned out salvage. Most of the other parts are a little better, but I wouldn't trust any of 'em to go past spec.'

'Glorious,' Halsia did her best to sound amused. She tried to avoid thinking about dying in a fiery engine failure. An ignominious death was not to be contemplated. 'What about the droids?'

'Those are actually better,' the quartermaster offered, sounding a bit upbeat. 'There were a lot of quality droids in use here, and not all were destroyed. They weren't that difficult to have memory wiped and provided with new operations packages from the probes the fleet was using to find the Dread Masters. The one trick is the personality matrix. Probe droids aren't really the most talkative bunch, so expect them to be rather bland. Hardware's good though.'

'I suspect I can manage.' Things could have been better, but she knew to make due. Frustration simply served as fuel for the dark side. 'I appreciate the heads up on the ships.' One day she'd have a ship worthy of her. When that day came, Halsia fully intended to blast countless lesser wrecks into dust. 'Try to have something nice for me when I get back. I'll be very cross otherwise. You wouldn't like that.'

'I'll see what I can scrounge up,' he answered. It was a game, partially.

After packing up her meagre supply of personnel effects, she barely managed to fill a single duffle and owned no artifacts worthy of the name, Halsia went to find her shuttle. She wondered if the force would be able to free her from this particular slog. It seemed unlikely.

Chapter Notes

So, I have picked possibly the most obscure source of a named character to be my protagonist – an NPC who's no longer in the game at all. Halsia Banso, along with Traxalis Deagua, Dae'o Soset, and Seibahn Vabakson were the basic gear vendors on Oricon until they were replaced in Patch 4.0. I have chosen to interpret this particular change as a storytelling prompt. Notably these characters are among the only named Imperial NPCs found on Oricon at all.

Maiya Vix appeared in the Oricon storyline cutscenes alongside Lord Hargrev. As Lord Hargrev was given custody of the Dread Fortress following completion of the Dread Palace operation, that leaves him in charge of the whole planet. Both characters will appear in this story at points.

Halsia's internal commentary regarding the state of the war at this point reflects the very recent Makeb conflict, of which she is not aware. Isotope-5 had not yet been used to retrofit the imperial fleet and allow the empire to retrench, so the situation was very bad.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

'That is a lot of frozen iceballs,' Halsia noted, staring at the orbital projection the probe droid had called up.

'Outer system planetoids are the most abundant objects in hydrostatic equilibrium found in star systems that have undergone standard developmental processes,' Copier responded. The Sith had inflicted the named on the droid, unwilling to refer to him as DCP-R 04. She was fairly certain he found it demeaning, which pleased her. 'Orbital dynamics dictate that the inner system will clear of small bodies with far greater efficiency than more distant orbits, especially in the presence of a gas giant.'

'Enough,' she cut him off. Even in a few short hours with the unit, she learned why probe droids were not normally programmed with vocabulators. They just did not stop talking. She supposed it was a side effect of their programming. When you built something to be fascinated by every new thing it saw and experienced, of course it would want to tell everyone else about it.

Mercifully, Copier obeyed orders and shut up when told. That was doing better than most humans in Halsia's experience. 'How many iceballs are we actually looking at?'

'According to the survey of the Oricon system, there are four thousand, six hundred, and twenty-eight objects in hydrostatic equilibrium located beyond the orbit of Nesperia. The number of smaller objects increases logarithmically, but the surveying operation did not chart objects below fifty kilometers in long-axis diameter. It is possible that the Dread Masters charted the system to a greater degree of resolution during their occupation, but if so those records have not been recovered.' The droid's deadpan summary made his use of technical terminology almost impossibly boring. It occurred to Halsia that she might use him as a sleep aid.

'So there's more than four thousand iceballs they could be hiding out on?' That was a miserable discovery. She'd had no idea the outer system would be so cluttered.

'Technically, yes, only those objects that have attained hydrostatic equilibrium qualify as round and therefore fit the colloquialism 'iceballs.' However, smaller objects are much more numerous. The number of bodies capable of hosting an installation is vast, potentially in the millions.'

Halsia stared at the droid. 'Millions?' she murmured. It was absurd. 'So what you're saying is that we'll never find them just by looking.'

'The probabilities of success in a search mission are very low, yes,' Copier agreed. He did not sound upset about it.

'Glorious.' The Dread Masters had been completely insane, but they'd still been Sith. Being of that persuasion herself, Halsia understood the thought process. The organization of installations would inevitably be a data maze, designed to hide some assets from certain other assets for all kinds of reasons, ranging from double-blind testing practices to pure unadulterated paranoia. There were no doubt some assets kept completely off records, hidden behind a screen of memory-wiped droids and cremated bodies, and the cool isolated reaches of the outer system were exactly where you'd hide them. She was being set up for failure, and it made her seethe.

Regardless of the futility of the task it had been ordered, via proxy, by a Sith Lord. There was no choice to obey. _Perhaps it won't matter anyway_ , she considered, sneering. _Those isolated little bolt holes can't possibly be self-sustaining. Eventually they'll reveal themselves by screaming for help. Otherwise they'll just die in the darkness, a nicely self-correcting problem._

To Copier she asked. 'Maiya provided you with a list of targets. Let's start there.'

The probe's projection shifted accordingly, illuminating a series of points in the star system model. There were quite a few. 'The best data sources are transmission access logs recovered from the Dread Fortress. Based on these forty-four locations have been tracked. Unfortunately these targets are largely without any further data beyond locations, as the actual transmissions were erased during the assault on the Fortress.'

'What do we actually have?' Halsia held up a datapad to demand the information.

The resulting table, no doubt compiled by some other droid working data retrieval on the hulk of the fortress, proved of little enlightenment. Someone had pointed a sensor at each location and that was about it. Though hardly a sensors technician, she had some understanding of the results due to experience coordinating Sith assault units. One line in particular jumped out as very odd, it did not match any one of the pre-determined categories. 'Explain the scrambling effect at number twenty-one,' she demanded of the probe.

'There are a number of possibilities…' Copier began, and it was clear he was going to launch into an exhaustive list.

'Stop,' Halsia commanded. 'Speculate and give me your two highest probability choices.' She smirked slightly. It was taking some work, but she was finding ways to manage the droid. That they involved distributing harsh interruptions was slightly irritating, but also deeply satisfying. In time, she resolved, he would learn to anticipate. Or be scrapped.

'Intermittent absorption is the primary result. The most likely causes are either the deployment of large quantities of armor plate, or a telescope,' the floating droid twitched slightly, as if discomforted at this off-the-cuff analysis, but answered.

Armor plate made some sense, though placing such a large series of bunkers so far out was highly irregular. 'Why a telescope?' The Sith demanded. It made no sense to her.

'The low thermal environment and lack of atmosphere provide advantages towards using a small, low-temperature planetoid, and the perspective of the outer system is free of inner system debris, which increases accuracy and-'

'Fine,' Halsia interjected. 'So it's a good place to put a telescope, but why would the Dread Masters bother to build such a thing?'

'Unknown,' Copier replied. At the glare from his master he quickly powered past a brief silence. 'But the Oricon system is well-positioned for an astronomical observatory. It is located near the edge of the galactic disc, beyond almost all settled systems, and is also elevated significantly above the disk, reducing interference from surrounding stars. A facility of this size would potentially have the ability to observe extremely distant, dim objects in the far reaches of the universe.'

To see into the heart of the void. It was obvious. 'Never mind,' Halsia told the droid. 'Of course they had such a thing.' All uncertainty vanished. She was sure it wasn't armor, or anything but a telescope now. 'Tell me, would it be likely for such a facility to have data on other targets within the system?'

'A telescope would doubtless be provided with the best survey data available, likely in multiple storage methods,' Copier hedged.

 _And as a science facility it ought to be lightly defended,_ the Sith recognized. Though confident in her power, Halsia had faced the Dread Host in battle. Only a fool would claim they were anything other than formidable. She saw no reason to take unnecessary risks. 'Acceptable,' she told the probe droid. 'Now go through the checklist to get this scrap heap in the air.' Having a droid pilot rather than a living subordinate, even some mewling alien slave, was embarrassing, but at least she wasn't forced to pilot herself. 'I'm going to update our Dread Mistress.'

Copier wisely avoided any comments regarding the nickname.

8 8 8

The voyage to the distant planetoid was boring. This was not a problem. Copier kept busy in the cockpit, tracking their approach to target. The droid ran endless statistical analysis on the existing target data, and spent the rest of its processing resources using the shuttle's sensors to track new frozen rocks floating about in their long, sedate orbits of centuries. He found this work deeply satisfying, secondary only to actually floating across such worlds in person.

With the droid content to float in his tiny space at the front of the vessel, Halsia claimed the rest of the ship. Though the tiny cabin was cramped, the cargo hold was quite spacious, if spare, after having been stripped of all Dread Host gear. It actually made for a sufficiently sized meditation and practice space. She had made a point beforehand of filling the corners with bags of ground volcanic sand. It helped to absorb the lightning in a confined space.

Not that she spent all her time in meditation. There were Sith who were that dedicated, but it seemed to her that if you intended to live that way you might as well be a Jedi. So while she certainly spent time channeling her anger to hurl streams of lightning at the walls and go through lightsaber combat forms, she also lounged back on thick cushions and watched extensive holodramas. She had a weakness for romances smuggled in from the Republic. The Core Worlds were glamorous in a way nothing in the Empire would ever be. Such a pity she'd not been old enough to campaign on Alderaan in the last war.

She also worked on crystal cutting, using cheap volcanic crystals, mostly hauyne and peridot, taken from the flows of Oricon. This required both conventional tools and manipulation through the force. It was a precision skill taking practice and focus. Though she liked to consider herself quite accomplished, in private she admitted her abilities were only modest, and the lightsaber crystals she had made were suitable only for apprentices and young Sith. Her own weapon bore a crystal she'd acquired from a dead Jedi Master on campaign. These practice crystals were not directed towards any so militant purpose, but she'd earned a decent pile of extra credits over the years selling them as jewelry.

With these various distractions is was easy enough to pass the time. That was helpful, for there was a fair amount of time to pass. Though the shuttle's sublight engine was powerful, the distances of the Outer System were vast. Copier relayed the separation between the various frozen planetoids in light-hours, a unit so unimaginably vast that it represented just over one billion klicks.

Their destination was almost six light hours from Oricon, on the other side of the primary star. It took three days to get there. As the distance increased the star behind shrank and dimmed, until it was a pale, wan thing barely brighter than giant stars much further distant. It became difficult to orient towards the inner system with the naked eye.

This led Halsia to a strange discovery. She found that, with a moment's focus, she could use the force to unerringly determine the direction of the primary. Something about the pulsating fusion furnace and its deep gravity well drew her in and brought the system into sharp relief. Though she considered this new skill naught but a trifle, she wondered if it would work when they returned to Oricon and much greater proximity.

Eventually, they approached within a few hours and the Sith joined the probe droid in the cockpit. All was dim and dark, and even at this distance it was impossible to see the planetoid. It would not be visible until they braked on their final approach mere minutes before entering orbit. Copier produced a digital simulation instead.

The planetoid, named OPNO-02322 by the survey team that had discovered her, was a dark, deep red shade. It was rounded and marked by many cuts and scrapes, but had relatively few craters. The surface was mostly rough and pebbly, but in some places extraordinarily smooth.

'A fairly large planetoid,' Copier summarized. 'It's just over one thousand kilometers in diameter. Unusually for an outer system body is has a rather high proportion of rock in its core, and the surface ices are unusually stable, with primarily water ice composition save in the outermost crust. As a result construction is easier and the sublimated volatiles needed to form a transient atmosphere are almost completely absent. It makes sense to place the telescope here than on another, more typical, planetoid.'

These details mattered little to the Sith. She rotated the image with a wave of her hand. 'So the outpost is here, at the center of this large, elevated plateau.' Her eyes narrowed. 'Seems awfully exposed.'

'Locating the telescope at high altitude prevents interference from any dust and other particulates that may be circulating,' Copier answered. 'A telescope facility by its very nature involves a number of large, highly exposed pieces of sensitive equipment, especially on this scale.'

'Sounds expensive.'

'It is.' The droid noted. 'There are a number of rare components that require regular replacement and maintenance needs are constant.'

The image seemed to waver before Halsia's vision. She contemplated her approach to the next step. 'They know we're coming, obviously.' The shuttle was hardly stealthy, and there was nothing in the vastness of this outer void to conceal them regardless. 'But they've said nothing.' She was mildly surprised by the silence. One would imagine any remaining loyalist wouldn't have missed the opportunity for a good denunciation. Perhaps the loss of the masters had been more damaging than she'd thought.

'Transmit a generic demand for surrender in Lord Hargrev's name,' she decided after a moment. There was no reason to use her own name, not yet. Borrowing power from the system's sole remaining authority of any importance at all served better. 'Notify me if they bother to respond.'

'Understood,' Copier quickly transferred the process through the ship's computer. 'How should we make our final approach?'

'That is a question,' Halsia noted, staring at the limited diagram of the potential facility. Information was in short supply. By the time they'd be in position to get a truly good look the defenders would be in a position to fire back. There would be defenses, it went without saying, the Dread Masters had been insane, but they'd still been more or less Sith.

The temptation to go in guns blazing existed. Heavily armored and reasonably well armed, the shuttle was up to making an attack. Despite this, Halsia did not seriously consider it. For one, while Copier was up to flying the ship under ordinary circumstances, she doubted the droid was properly programmed for combat, and her own combat piloting skills were regrettably under developed. For another, she'd rather not damage the facility overmuch, and a simulation of firing laser cannons at a backdrop of methane and nitrogen ice had revealed catastrophic potential.

'We'll make a single close reconnaissance pass upon orbital insertion and then loop around the planet and find a secure place to land nearby,' she decided after a lengthy silence. 'I'll fly the ship for that portion. You'll concentrate on imaging that plateau. I want to find the nearest secure landing point we can.' Anything to minimize the distance traversing this frozen wasteland.

'And if the enemy counterattacks?' the droid's voice might be deadpan, but it seemed he was endowed with a sense of self-preservation after all.

'Then we'll celebrate,' she smiled. If they abandoned fixed defenses she was sure whatever this pitiful observatory could muster in the way of troops would be mere chaff before the shuttle's guns. 'But I doubt they're that stupid, or that motivated,' she noted sourly. It remained unclear if anyone was even alive down on the iceball. 'Now move aside from my seat and start calculating final approach vectors.'

 **Chapter Notes**

Copier is functionally a Probe Droid companion. Probe droids of the same model type are found as NPC enemies on Oricon so it seemed a reasonable choice to go with. By the same token the shuttle she is using represents the imperial shuttle model found in the Dread Fortress courtyard that PCs destroy with grenades. Those were hyperdrive capable in the Oricon plotline, but I've chosen to have the empire not repair that system deliberately (and also because it is presumably the most expense part of the ship).

Information regarding the outer system planetoids assumes Oricon is a fairly typical star system and is intended to be generally scientifically accurate, though much information on such small, distant bodies is poorly known. Regarding distance I've had to make some judgment calls, because it really isn't clear how fast sublight travel speeds allow a ship to go. For storytelling purposes I'm assuming that a ship can get to pretty much any point in the star system in under a week, even if the distance is hundreds of AU.


End file.
